


Blinding Lights

by youtemptress



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Cancer, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, High School, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, Laughter During Sex, Long-Haired Harry Styles, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Post-High School, Rebellion, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Rimming, Romance, Shower Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youtemptress/pseuds/youtemptress
Summary: Where Louis Tomlinson comes from one of the wealthiest families of London and has been required to meet everyone’s expectations for as long as he can remember, he comes to loathe the posh restaurants, the fancy cars, and the shallowness of the lifestyle he has been forced to succumb to. He eventually stops fighting it and starts doing what is asked of him, until a pair of green, promising eyes, a mop of curls and thighs clad in skin tight jeans slowly but surely shakes his world.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Taylor Swift/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Taylor Swift
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we are! This is my first fanfiction, so please be gentle with me :') .  
> I'm going to try and post a chapter every Friday from now on, so if anyone ever starts reading this, I hope you keep doing it!  
> I'm going to get this out of the way and thank my best friends for being so supportive of me and this story, and always showing their excitement. Carm (@18habit on Twitter), Timmy (@BALOUCIAGA on Twitter), Jule (@lighthabit on Twitter), you guys keep me going. I love you.  
> And, of course, a massive, MASSIVE thank you to the best beta reader ever, aka Esther (@lwtgucci_ on Twitter), for always calling me out on my mistakes and making all of this so much better.  
> That being said, let's dive right into this! I hope you enjoy it. X  
> Yours truly, Ana <3

“Louis, mate, you ready or what?” Louis hears Zayn’s voice at the other end of the line say, making out something that resembles annoyance in his tone. “Zee, it’s half-past ten, give me a fucking break, will ya?” he tries going for nonchalant. Why does he even make such a big deal out of it? Zayn should be used to Louis always being late, having known him his whole life. He’s not even that late now, is he? He was supposed to be at the club at ten, what’s half an hour going to do? Or, well, maybe an hour or two, but does he care? Fuck no. “At least try to get here before the club bloody closes, alright? We’ve downed a round of shots already, we’re not gonna wait for you all night,” his best friend’s voice comes off as slightly high pitched, which is unusual considering his apparent endless patience and composed demeanor. “Fine, mate. See you later,” he says, knowing damn well that he sounds like he doesn’t care, and hanging up without waiting for an answer.  
He briefly considers staying in bed and staring at the ceiling just a little while longer, but finally decides against it. He gets out of his giant, fluffy cloud of a bed, groaning low in his throat in annoyance at the loss of contact with the white linen sheets and soft pillows that cover it. He covers the short distance that separates his bed from his own, personal bathroom in a few long strides, the cool hardwood floor a stark contrast to his warm feet.   
He quickly strips out of his t-shirt, sweats and boxers and gets in the shower without waiting for the water to warm up, letting the freezing cold, crystal clear liquid wash over him and hoping for it to get a little bit of energy flowing in his veins. It doesn’t seem to work. His whole body is shaken by shivers, and it annoys the shit out of him. He twists the handle to the left, and moments later he’s being enveloped by steaming hot water. He doesn’t mind it, he’s always had a thing for hot showers and baths. It helps relax his stiff shoulders, relieve him of some of the tension that’s built up there. He allows himself a moment to just enjoy the feeling but, of course, his mind has other plans.He squirts some shampoo into his hand, the fresh scent with a hint of cinnamon hitting his nostrils in a matter of seconds. After bringing his small hands to his scalp, he starts massaging and gently scratching at it with his blunt nails.   
His thoughts float towards his girlfriend, Taylor. She’s not going to be with him and the lads tonight because she’s gone on vacation with her girl friends. Louis realizes that he hasn’t as much as texted her back today, and decides that he’ll force himself to at least say ‘hello’ to her and ask if she’s having fun. He thinks that should do the trick, and holds in a scoff at the mere idea of having to talk to her. She’s a great girl, it's not that she isn’t. She has wavy, blond hair that reaches her shoulders and bangs. Beautiful blue eyes like Louis’ own, long lashes, full pink lips, high cheekbones, a flat stomach, long, toned legs, you name it. She’s the beauty standard that society has burned into everyone’s minds. She’s also smart and witty, knows when to use her sarcasm and when a joke is adequate. A great education at the University of Cambridge was offered to her by her parents, who are about as wealthy as Louis’ own, Jay and Mark. She studied business so of course, _of course_ , Louis’ parents approve of their relationship. They are married to their jobs and the company, and the piece of paper that keeps the two of them together has nothing on their relationships with work. They love working more than they love each other, and more than they love or care about Louis, for sure. So yeah, Louis’ relationship with Taylor mainly exists to make his parents happy.  
He manages to resurface from his introspection, the veil of blurriness that fogged up his vision while he was staring at nothing, deep in thought, finally clearing up. His dainty hands have stopped massaging his scalp, but at least the water has already rinsed out the shampoo, he notices. It feels like he was lost in his own mind for hours, and he sure hopes that’s not the case, punctuality be damned.   
Picking up the bottle of body wash from the shelf attached to the tiles of his large, luxurious shower, he opens it - finding the little _pop_ of the cap quite satisfying - and squirts some directly onto his chest. He hastily scrubs his body clean and stays under the stream of water until the soap has rinsed off completely. Then he steps out of the shower, careful not to slip and split his skull in half, not that he’d mind a crazy amount.  
Using the first towel he can put his hands on, he runs it through his dripping wet hair, - which, he realises, has been getting pretty long - then he pats his body dry. Without bothering to put any item of clothing on just yet, he brushes his teeth, rinsing his mouth with cold water. When he drags his wet hand across his chin, he realises that there’s a bit of stubble going on, but decides against shaving because he doesn’t want to get a rash, and because he’s already past being fashionably late. Hence, he takes his time to do his hair, arranging it in a smooth quiff that leaves his forehead exposed and his piercing blue eyes in sight.   
He strolls back to his room and into his closet, and comes out with a pair of black skinny jeans and a black YSL shirt hanging loosely from his arm, a pair of white Tommy Hilfiger sneakers in his other hand. He decides to go for a casual look, since he already has to wear fancy suits when he goes to business meetings and events with his parents, and he’s just _tired_ of it all. The man really does need a break. He pushes the thought aside and, after putting on a fresh pair of black boxers, he slips his trousers up to his still damp thighs, struggling quite a bit to get them to his hips. After jumping up and down a couple of times to adjust his jeans, he zips them up and does the button. He pushes his arms through the sleeves of the shirt and buttons it up - leaving it undone at the top to reveal some of his chest - and tucks it messily in his pants. He doesn’t bother with putting on socks and puts his shoes on, then finishes the look with a black Gucci belt and his trademark golden Rolex.  
He sprays some perfume on his neck and collarbones, pockets his car and house keys and grabs his aviator sunglasses on his way out, hanging them by the V of his shirt. It’s dark outside - his watch shows that it’s half-past eleven, he notes with a sigh - but he’s probably going to get home way past sunrise, high off his ass, so he might need them. 

He leans against his black Mercedes before unlocking it in favor of sending a couple of texts to Taylor. _Hi babe, how’s Paris?_ , and _Sorry, been busy with some paperwork all day, don’t have too much fun without me :)_ , blah, blah, blah. Again, that should do the trick, he thinks. With that, Louis unlocks his car with a press of the button on the tiny key in his hand. When he climbs in, he feels the beige leather of the seat stick to the back of his neck. Bloody fancy cars, and damned be the British weather. It’s the middle of May, the sun has set hours ago, yet the air is hot and thick with humidity. He would’ve almost preferred the typical London weather, cold and foggy. He tries not to think too much about it and starts the engine, gets out of the driveway and takes a couple of turns that lead to the motorway, which is where he hits the pedal like his life depends on it, keeping his foot on the ground for most of the journey, passing almost every car. It feels like the vehicle is floating on the road, the motor just a low buzz in the background. He has to admit, he enjoys it very much. As much as he hates all the pressure that’s dumped on him daily, he can’t really complain about the cars. Would he give them up in exchange for a normal, fun, _worry-free_ life, as the 20 year old he is, though? The answer is actually yes, and if it took him a while to get to that conclusion, nobody needs to know. Actually, nobody needs to know any of it, because he has to always appear ecstatic about work and galas and money and all that bullshit.  
Snapping out of it, Louis turns on the radio and starts tapping his fingers on the wheel to whatever bubblegum pop song is playing as he gets off the motorway. He absentmindedly drives to his destination and parks the car, locking it after he gets off and slams the door shut. 

With a few long strides he gets to the entry, the neon sign that reads _Blinding Lights_ shining bright above it. He walks past the bouncers that stand on each side of the door. He knows all of them since he comes here every single Saturday with Zayn, Liam and - usually - Taylor, so they let him in without asking any questions, saluting him with a nod.   
Louis makes his way through the crowds of rich, spoiled young lads and girls in way too tight and way too short dresses, pointedly ignoring the delicate fingertips that brush his skin or clutch the material of his shirt and the whispers of _Wanna dance, babe?_ and _You up for a drink?_. Instead, he goes to the usual privè that he and his friends spend their nights in and immediately spots Zayn. He doesn’t acknowledge his presence right away, but when he does he looks… startled, perhaps? Louis gives him a funny look and greets him with an “Oi, Zee! You alright there?” at which his friend snaps out of it. “Yeah, mate. ‘S all good. Took you a minute, innit?” he chuckles. “You know it,” Louis says with a smirk.   
Afterwards, he takes in his surroundings. It hits him that the red leather armchairs are empty. He expected Zayn to be there with Liam, but that wasn’t the case. He raises an eyebrow in question, but the dark haired lad just furrows his own brows in confusion. “What about Li?” Louis asks. “Oh- Uhm, couldn’t make it. Didn’t tell me why though,” Zayn stutters, his puzzled air throwing Louis off completely. He’s used to the calm, zen version of the boy, but decides to ignore it for the sake of getting shitfaced. “I’m gonna get a drink, do you want anything?” he asks while spinning on his heel towards the velvety curtain that keeps their privè, well, private. “Nah mate, all good,” Zayn lifts his almost full glass of gin and tonic. Louis gives him a nod and starts walking towards the bar, but as soon as he passes the curtain he bumps into someone. Startled, it takes him a moment to notice that he knows the person he crashed into. “Tay? What are you doing here?” he asks, brows furrowed in confusion and voice loud enough to be heard above the music. His girlfriend looks even more surprised than him, and she throws a worried glance above his shoulder. She recovers quickly, her expression becoming more relaxed, “Hey babe, missed me? Thought I’d surprise you and come back a few days early,” she says while wrapping an arm around his neck. Louis inwardly rolls his eyes at the unexpected turn of events, but says what his girlfriend wants to hear anyways “Oh, that’s great, love! Glad you’re here!” and he kisses her on the cheek. “I’m going to get a drink, gotta catch up with you two,” he shifts his gaze to Zayn for a brief moment “do you want anything?”. “No, I’m okay. See you in a bit,” she answers with a shrug.   
He strolls towards the bar. Fuck, alcohol sounds so good right now. It’s not that he hates or dislikes Taylor. He doesn’t. He cares deeply about her and he does love her, but not like he’s supposed to. What they have is more of a platonic relationship anyways, but they occasionally kiss or fuck. They’re friends with benefits, is what they actually are. Their relationship needs to seem serious when his parents are around, though. 

He snaps out of it just as he props his elbows on the bar. After a moment a bartender leans in to be heard over the loud music “Hi, what can I get you?” he asks, a charming smile on his lips and a pair of piercing green eyes boring right into his. “I’ll have two shots of tequila, please.” and, just like every Saturday, he thinks about wanting to go easy on his liver for a change, but decides to get wrecked when he has to order. “Coming right up!” is what Louis manages to hear. As his bartender pours the transparent drink into little shot glasses, he takes in his appearance. Long, chocolate curls that cascade over his shoulders, a defined jawline, a black, silky shirt, rolled up to his elbows, dozens of tattoos in plain sight, and unbuttoned to reveal a toned chest and milky skin covered in even more tattoos that Louis can’t quite make out in the dim lighting.  
His expert hands move the bottle of liquor and the glasses around with a mesmerizing facility, chunky rings on almost all of his digits. In the short amount of time it takes him to pour the drinks, he manages to look Louis’ way far more times than necessary. Louis pointedly avoids his gaze, hyper aware of the fact that he’s staring. He’s fascinated by the boy’s expertise, is all. There’s nothing more to it.   
When his two shots are being put in front of him by one big hand, he finally dares to look up and make eye contact with the bartender. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen him here before, is the thing. He’s met with a small smile, at which he responds with a nod of his head. Curiosity gets the best of him, and before he can stop himself the words are already leaving his lips “You new here?” he asks. “Yeah, this is my first day, actually,” he answers, seeming a little bit surprised by the question, but pleased nonetheless. Louis hums in response, inaudible over the music. He downs his shots in two swift motions, Adam’s apple bobbing, his throat pleasantly enveloped by flames. “Rough night?” he hears a deep voice say, accompanied by an incredulous chuckle. Louis glances up again, only to find the same bartender that he can’t put a name tag on, and isn’t interested in doing so, for that matter. “Nah,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, getting irritated by the man’s inquisitive demeanor “just wanna have a good time,” he continues, and then he’s off. 

The rest of the night goes by in an alcohol and weed-induced haze. He pointedly ignores the nameless bartender everytime he goes for a drink, and actually has a non-horrible time. He even danced a bit. He has no idea with whom, but he knows he did, and it doesn’t happen often, so he’ll count that as a win. 

They leave the club just as it starts to empty, the proximity of the first rays of sunshine already painting the sky a lighter shade of navy blue. He can barely stand, his arm wrapped around Taylor to keep steady. She calls her driver and tells him to pick her up, while Zayn calls an Uber. Louis drove here, but he is in no condition to drive back. He calls both of his drivers, so one can take him home and one can take the other car. The three friends make small talk for the 5 minutes it takes for Zayn’s Uber to pick him up, then they say their goodbyes. Louis leans against the wall to take his weight off Taylor, but she cuddles close to him again, her body heat radiating in waves and keeping Louis warm. Surprisingly enough, he finds that he genuinely doesn’t mind her presence or close proximity, so he wraps an arm around her. Comfortable silence settles over them for the next few minutes, then Taylor’s Audi is pulling up in front of them. She gives him a chaste kiss on the lips and offers a small, tired smile before climbing into the backseat and slamming the door shut.   
Minutes later, Louis’ own drivers come into view, one of them getting out of the car and greeting Louis with a “Good morning, Mr Tomlinson!”. Louis puts his sunglasses on to conceal his bloodshot eyes and hands him the keys to his Mercedes “Mornin’, Andrew. Better not scratch my car or some shit, alright?” he rasps. Andrew nods solemnly and presses the button on the small device in his hand to locate the car. When he does, he approaches it in long, quick strides, and Louis climbs into the backseat of the BMW without bothering to answer Oliver’s greeting.   
When he’s almost home, exhaustion is pulling at his limbs, making his eyelids heavy. When the vehicle comes to a halt, he gets his uncoordinated legs out first, then manages to stand without falling to the ground face first. The booze is hitting him harder than earlier, and his stomach turns unpleasantly while his head pounds with a nerve-wracking headache. He manages to get to the door and after a few tries he unlocks it. He doesn’t turn on any lights, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good, and collapses on the couch without taking his shoes or clothes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!! x


	2. II

A loud thump wakes Harry up from his already restless slumber, just as he started to calm down from a nightmare. He turns over to look out the window, the old mattress squeaking under his weight, and realizes that it’s still dark outside. Fucking magnificent. He pushes his complaints aside and focuses on the noises in the house. He manages to make out the jingle of the keys, so that must be his mum coming home from work.  
Getting out of bed, and receiving yet another creak from the worn/out wooden platform in return, he decides to get out of his room and greet his mother; he wasn’t going to get a good night’s sleep anyways. As he untangles himself from the covers, one of the textbooks that he left on the bed before exhaustion got the best of him falls to the ground with a noise a tad too loud for the current hour, whatever that is. Everything around him is silent, except for the muffled sounds coming from the living room. He stumbles towards the door with a huff and runs a hand through his hair, one strand getting caught in one of his rings and pulling at his scalp, making him hiss in pain and annoyance. The boy manages to untangle his brown curl from around his finger and strolls towards what he thinks is the clattering of mugs or plates.   
Harry finds his mum’s tired figure leaning against the kitchen counter, white mug in one hand, shoulders hunched and heavy with fatigue. Her head is bowed forward and her eyes fixated on the ground. She looks bloody tired, and Harry’s heart breaks a bit at the sight. “Hey, mum,” he lets out softly, voice raspy and thick from having just woken up. Anne looks up, her frown smoothing out while she takes in her son’s appearance. He looks tired but cuddly, scrunched up t-shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders and his hair a wild mess on top of his head. He has bags and dark circles under his eyes, but he has been studying a lot, so she blames it on that. “Morning, sweetheart,” - she coos - “did you sleep alright? It’s early, you should go back to bed,” she continues, a worried expression taking over his face, but her voice still low and even. “Don’t worry, I went to bed early,” he lies, avoiding the woman’s gaze “but you do look tired. Still beautiful, but tired.” He gives her a small smile and finally meets her eyes again. “You work too much, mum.You were supposed to go to the coffee shop at eight this morning, where were you all night?” he rambles, the words coming out rushed compared to his usual calm voice. “They needed someone at the hospital, and you know I can’t turn them down,” - she frowns and stares at her short, blunt nails - “I can’t risk it, Harry.” she finishes.   
Harry sighs in defeat and gets closer to his mother, wrapping an arm around her and leaning down to kiss her on the forehead, ever so gently. He knows damn well that Anne does this for him, for them to be able to keep living in London and not have to drag their asses back to Redditch. He has come to loathe the place, so he’d rather live in this shithole of a house and struggle to find the money to have three - or at least two - decent meals a day and pay rent. “I know, mum. I’m sorry, you know you don’t need to feel bad about it,” he comforts her, rubbing soothing circles on her back, “It’s just that I want you to be able to get some rest.” he backs up a few inches to make eye contact with the woman standing in front of him. “Speaking of, you should go to bed. You have to be at the shop in-” he pauses for a second to glance at the clock “-four hours.” he says around a sigh. She hugs him closer to her chest for a moment before putting the mug she was still holding on the counter top, a small puff of air leaving her parted lips. “Yeah, you’re right, honey.” she loosens his grip around his waist. “Sleep well,” says Harry before kissing her on the cheek. He returns his mom’s small smile and pours himself a cup of cold coffee from last night’s study session.   
He takes a small sip, then remembers that he has to go to work tonight. He’ll get home super late and barely got any sleep, for fuck’s sake. He props his still full mug on the countertop and heads towards his bedroom. It’s still completely dark outside, the house enveloped by a silence that Harry finds deafening. He plugs his earphones into his old, old iPod and shuffles his songs. The first one to play is Mr. Brightside by The Killers. He slides the device under the pillow and lies down, pulling the covers up to his hips. He closes his eyes and surprisingly drifts into unconsciousness after a few minutes.

Harry wakes up again pretty late, but he takes it as a win because he’s probably going to have to pull an all nighter at the club. It’s his first day there, and he’s never had any experiences with bartending, but he’s always been a quick learner so he isn’t too nervous about it. He quit his job at the library a few days ago because what they were paying him wasn’t enough, and when Niall told him that Blinding needed a new bartender, he didn’t hesitate and sent a job application right away. They hired Harry without even interviewing him, and he probably has to thank his sunbeam of a best friend for that. He won’t admit to it, but he certainly talked his boss into taking him. 

Grey clouds sit heavy and low above London, hiding the sun, but not one drop of water falls down from them. It’s unusually warm, the air feeling thick and making his skin clammy.  
Harry’s day, however, goes by rather quickly. He munches on some leftovers after waking up and brushing his teeth, then picks up his copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde and reads all day, annotating it and analyzing the text. Some more practice will do him good, he thinks. English Literature will definitely be something he needs to know like the back of his hand when he takes his last exam. He’s already taken two - Psychology and Creative Writing -, and Harry found them easy, much to his surprise. He thinks he passed them with flying colours. His third A level is English Literature, and he’s been stressing out about it for weeks. He often thinks that he should stop doubting himself and have a tad more self-confidence, but, obviously, it’s easier said than done.  
Thing is, he can’t afford to go to university, and his only saving grace would be a full scholarship. He’s well aware of how hard it is to get one, especially in London, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try and give all he’s got. It’s been his dream since he was a little kid, studying and getting somewhere. Especially if he gets to do what he loves most in order to get there.

It’s a few minutes to eight when he finally puts his worn out book down, remembering that he has a job to attend. He needs to be there at nine, so he needs to fucking hurry or he’ll be late on his very first day. He hastily takes his band t-shirt off and throws it on the bed before leaving his room and heading towards the bathroom. He risks a quick glance in the mirror and realizes that his hair is a tangled mess, but doesn’t waste any more time by trying to brush it. He turns on the water in the shower and gives it a moment to warm up while proceeding to take the rest of his clothes off. He quickly scrubs his body clean, then squirts some of his mom’s conditioner on his hand, which he runs through his hair, trying to not pull too hard and untangle the wild nest of birds that sits on top of his head. When his curls squeaky clean and untangled, he steps out of the shower, droplets of water falling from his hair and body, wetting the white tiles. Harry dries off with a towel, then stumbles to his room to get dressed. He picks out one of the few nice shirts he has, a black silken one, and the tightest pair of black skinny jeans he owns. When he’s all dressed, his shirt half unbuttoned, he slips on his brown chelsea boots. 

He takes his phone and house keys and runs a hand through his hair. Still damp. Harry doesn’t give it much thought, it’s gonna dry out in no time, and it looks better when it’s air dried anyways. He leaves his house with a final glance at the watch, and visibly relaxes when he sees that he still has time. He doesn’t have a car, so he’ll need to walk. Luckily Blinding Lights isn’t far from his house at all, and he’ll probably be there earlier than needed.

As expected, he gets to the club in less than fifteen minutes, but sees Niall’s car in the parking lot and decides to go inside. He does so with long, steady strides, trying to look confident. His best friend’s face lights up when he sees him. He forgets about whatever it is that he was doing and quickly strolls towards Harry, enveloping him in a hug. Niall’s always been the touchy type, while Harry not so much, but he doesn’t mind it. “Haz, I’m so glad you got the job! I can’t believe I get to work with you!” the blond boy says, way too loud for their proximity, Irish accent thick as ever. “Me too, Ni. It’s gonna be fun, innit?” he answers around a chuckle. Niall smiles brightly at him and nods towards the bar. “C’mon, I’m gonna show you where everything is. I’ll be right next to you all night though, so you can ask me anything,” and with that they both start walking.

It’s a few minutes past midnight, and everything has been great so far. Harry’s been fairly quick, not making the customers wait more than a couple of minutes. It almost feels like he’s been doing this for a lifetime, and even Niall gives him an impressed look every once in a while.   
His next client is a posh looking kid, probably around Harry’s age. He’s wearing a black shirt and his amber hair styles in a high quiff. He can’t make out the colour of his eyes, but his high cheekbones are prominent, the soft lighting causing them to cast shadows on his face that accentuate his hollow cheeks. His nose is defined, and there’s stubble on his chin, jaw and above his upper lip. Harry finds him kind of attractive, but knows all too well what the people who come to this kind of night club are like. Spoiled brats, spending all of daddy’s money on cars, drugs and alcohol.   
“Hi, what can I get you?” he says while leaning closer to the (presumably) rich kid. He gets his order and props two shots of tequila in front of him moments later. Harry makes eye contact with him, right then and there, and feels his cheeks heat up the tiniest bit. And if he glanced at his customer a couple of times while pouring his drinks, nobody needs to know. He’s slightly taken aback when a high, raspy voice reaches his ears. “You new here?” and, oh- he even sounds rich and spoiled. Harry decides he doesn’t like him one bit, but still answers politely because he certainly doesn’t want to make a scene on his first shift. It’s just that- he must come here often, thinking he rules the place and knows everyone who works here. Well, not tonight. “Yeah, this is my first day, actually,” he says, trying his best not to look annoyed, but rather pleased to have started a conversation. Marketing, he thinks. Maybe if his future doesn’t work out as planned, he should think about it. The classy, probably million dollar man in front of him doesn’t answer in favor of downing his two shots of tequila one after the other. Harry speaks up again, for the sake of making conversation and maybe getting a good tip out of him. “Rough night?” there’s a brief moment of silence that follows his question, and then “Nah, just wanna have a good time,” he brushes him off, then gets up and leaves.  
What the fuck? Did he go through the trouble of speaking to the guy, only to be given a cold shoulder? Whatever, Harry has been having a good time and doesn’t want to let some lad he doesn’t even know ruin his night. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Not on his watch.

He gets home around five in the morning as planned, strips out of his clothes and slips under the covers wearing only his boxers, too tired to even brush his teeth. H'es going to regret that one in the morning, he thinks.   
After mere moments, the heaviness of exhaustion seeps into his bones, pulling him into a deep slumber. At least he's finally getting a good night's sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> Again, a massive thank you to Esther for being the best beta writer ever and helping me pull through.  
> If you want to talk and be mutuals, or if you want to know something about the story, you can find me on Twitter, @louishslot!  
> I'll see you guys next Friday with the third chapter, which I'm so, so excited about!
> 
> Yours,  
> Ana xx


	3. III

You know the feeling; the waking up with throbbing eyes, a sore throat, and worst of all, a raging headache.   
Maybe you don't. But Louis surely does.  
Louis groans and stretches his sore arms. His hands grab at the emptiness beside him. He frowns as he stares at the ruffled sheets that smell faintly of sweat, alcohol, and vanilla mixed with just a hint of stale smoke. Louis' heart sinks to his stomach, but he internally scolds himself. _You basically sold your soul to the devil when you decided to only care about pleasing your birth giver and her husband, so you can't expect to wake up to anything or anyone that isn’t a ruffled pillow or your fake ass girlfriend, let alone a boy. Since when does he think about that kind of stuff, anyways?_ He brushes it off.  
The boy hauls himself up, but immediately regrets it. It feels as if his head is about to implode. From the throbbing of his eyes to the stinging in his muscles, his entire body aches. "Jesus, fuck," he groans.  
Louis pulls himself out of bed and pads towards the bathroom. The house is quiet. He jolts in shock as he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are very bloodshot and swollen. His hair is a disaster. He feels so dirty, sweat clinging to his body like a second skin.  
He turns the silver shower knob and doesn’t hesitate to strip himself of the jeans and shirt he'd slept in. He jumps in the shower and washes last night’s remnants away. The cold water feels soothing against his hot skin. Louis watches water trail down the drain until it disappears completely. As he washes himself, he scrubs as hard as he can. She scrubs away the regret hunching his petite figure from the shoulders, because what the fuck? Why does he have to get this wrecked every time?   
But the harder he scrubs, the angrier he gets. The one thing Louis hates more than being an irresponsible brat and making a fool out of himself because of the drugs and alcohol is, well, other people watching him make a fool out of himself because of the drugs and alcohol. And that's exactly what happened last night.   
Louis hurries out of the shower, sick of dwelling on the night before. She throws on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that look clean enough, and brushes through his wet, tangled hair. Not ready to deal with his appearance, Louis steps back out into his room.  
His brows cinch together as she hears the rumbling of the washig machine from the laundry room. He surely hadn't started a load. “Is anyone there?” he asks loudly, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing in the house.  
No response. His frown deepens.   
Who the hell is doing laundry in his house? But then it hits him. He fell asleep on the couch last night, that he’s sure of, but he definitely woke up in his bed. What in Jesus’ name is going on? His heart starts beating out of his chest, knots of white panic tangling in his stomach.   
Louis braces himself for whatever disaster he'd created last night before stepping into the living room. But there is nothing there. He goes into the kitchen and is greeted by emptiness, but notices that the french window that leads to the garden is ajar. He steps outside and-   
“Mom? What are you doing here?” Jay turns around. “Oh, good morning! You finally woke up!” she says, voice high-pitched, but her facial expression gives away that she isn’t really all that pleased or excited to see him.   
“Uh, y-yeah?” he stutters, forehead knitting in confusion. “What are you doing here?” Louis asks again, re-gaining some composure. “Your phone was going straight to voicemail, and I didn’t want you to miss the meeting. I brought you your favourite from Starbucks, by the way. It’s on the table.” and shit. The meeting, that’s right. Thing is, Louis doesn’t even know why his mom and Mark keep insisting on him going. It’s not like he does anything besides shaking hands and cracking fake smiles. But, again, he has no say in it, despite being a fully grown man. Perks of being an only child with businessmen as parents, he supposes.   
He nods in Jay’s direction with a low hum in acknowledgement and slowly walks back to the kitchen and, indeed, finds a venti-sized Starbucks cup waiting for him. He picks it up and takes a sip, which causes him to nearly gag. Yeah, why did Louis expect his mother to know how he likes his coffee? He empties it in the kitchen sink and throws the paper cup away, before going to the bathroom to get ready. Once his hair is styled in the usual high, smooth quiff, his face shaven and his teeth brushed, he goes to his wardrobe and picks out a navy blue suit, a matching tie, a white button up and a pair of Italian leather shoes. He goes to grab his golden Rolex, but can’t see it in its usual spot. Right, he didn’t take it off last night. He brings his right hand to his left wrist to feel it, except- it’s not there. Think. Think. Think.   
The only plausible option is that he left it at the club last night, but that makes his task - to get it back, that is - nearly impossible. Who finds thousands of dollars’ worth of a watch and decides to try and find its rightful owner instead of keeping it or selling it? He decides it’s worth a shot, so he might swing by later to check if anyone had found it. They should be preparing drinks and cleaning and whatever-it-is-that-they-do before they open, so hopefully they’ll let him in.   
He decides not to wear a watch today, his Rolex being the only one he’s worn in years. It has kind of a deep meaning for him. He’s not fucking heartless, after all, thank you very much.

The meeting was as boring as ever, his presence not important at all. He shook hands with a few businessmen, made brief conversations about marketing, and answered questions about his future as a part of Tomlinson Inc., which he had to do with a fake smile plastered across his face - that might or might not have looked more like some kind of grimace - and all but genuine enthusiasm lacing his voice.   
It’s over now, though. He parts ways with Jay and Mark as soon as he steps out of the building, muttering his goodbyes to them, and strolling to his car. Thank god he drove here by himself, because there’s no way in Hell he’s going to spend more time than necessary with his parents. It’s always business talk, over and over again. And when it’s not, it’s even worse. Racist and homophobic comments drip from their lips as if they were talking about the weather, not a care in the world. Louis never spoke up, but those words never failed to form a lump in his throat, to have hot panic and anger press down on his stomach and chest and heart, threatening to make him disappear altogether. Louis has always tried to swallow down that lump, a mixture of shame and sadness and just bright red anger. He has pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, in some dark, empty and private space, much like his heart has become over the past few years, ever since he made that one promise to himself.   
He was tired of always fighting, with himself and with his family. It all would have been a disappointment to them, that, Louis is one hundred percent sure of. He has his whole life planned, down to who he’s going to marry and what he’s going to be doing for a living for the rest of his life. He’s despised it so much, ever since he was old enough to understand what was going on. He still does, but he shut off that part of him that kept pushing, kept fighting, kept trying to break free. He just… forgot about it. Or, even better, he actively tries to forget about it. Every single conscious moment, day in and day out. It’s not always easy, and sometimes he slips, but he’s managing. He’s even doing a pretty good job, if he does say so himself.

He gets in the car and brings the ignition to life. His destination is Blinding Lights, so he mentally visualizes the path he needs to take.  
Halfway through this inconvenient journey that’s forcing him to have a late dinner, his stomach rumbles unpleasantly, hunger pains eating at his insides. Right, this is not how it’s going to work. He knows there is a McDonald’s somewhere on this street, and yes, grease is exactly what he’s craving. Who cares about living a long, healthy life anyways? It's not like he's going to live happily ever after with the love of his life, doing what he loves until he's too gray and old and needs to retire. None of that, so he doesn't bother.  
He makes his way to the drive-through and orders his usual: a Crispy McBacon, large fries, and a Coke. He would've loved a beer right now, but safe driving and all that. He's a responsible adult. Yes. Definitely.  
Once he gets his credit card back and puts his hands on the already oil-stained paper bag, he can almost hear his mom’s voice scolding him for his unhealthy excuse of a dinner. Louis decides he doesn’t care. He hardly ever does, when it's anything regarding his parents. He doesn't in the slightest, but pretends to be the golden boy they always wanted nonetheless.  
Once he’s done stuffing his face, he wipes his greasy fingers on his last napkin. They could've been more generous with them, eh? Or maybe it’s just that he never has to worry about this kind of stuff. Whatever. He dumps his trash on the passenger seat, fastens his seatbelt and, once again, revs the engine, this time driving straight to the club. 

  
When Louis manages to get inside, which took a couple of minutes because Blinding Lights is actually closed right now, he isn’t faced with the oh so familiar turmoil that usually fills the place. It’s very quiet, except for the voices of a few people working, who are chatting nonchalantly. He clears his throat rather loudly and murmurs a quiet greeting. A tall, broad-shouldered figure turns around. And, of course, it’s no other than the infamous, nameless barman from last night. He apparently just interrupted a conversation between him and the other bartender (Neil? Niall, maybe? Louis can’t be sure), who has been working there for a while now, and who Louis sees almost every time he goes for a drink.   
The long-haired boy raises his eyebrows expectantly, and after a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence, louis gets the hint and speaks up. “Um, hi,” he starts again, his voice steadier this time around. “I was here last night, and I think I lost my watch at some point during the night. I don’t really remember much,” he feels his neck and cheeks heat up at his confession. He should really think things through before he lets the words slip out of his mouth. “But I thought it was worth a shot. Checking if somehow it's still here, that is.” He gulps down as much oxygen as he can once his sentence is over, noticing that he forgot to breathe properly throughout his little speech.   
Niall-or-whatever-his-name-is and big-nameless-bartender are staring him down, their faces expressionless, yet somehow Louis thinks he can make out a hint of amusement sparkling in their eyes. They share a look, then the taller boy starts speaking. “I think I found something while cleaning around earlier, but I need to check. Follow me, yeah?” and with that sentence, blue meets green - because yes, the other man’s eyes are the most otherworldly shade of chartreuse green Louis has ever seen - and everything seems to slow down for a moment. But it's nothing like a cheesy scene from a crappy rom-com. It makes Louis almost uncomfortable, bordering on nervous, uneasy. The man's eyes seem to be staring right through him, deep into his soul. Or something.   
He snaps out of his contemplation and follows the doe-eyed kid, trying to catch up with him, his small legs jeopardizing him in his task. They get to an open door that leads to a small room - a storage, perhaps - full with boxes that have been unceremoniously dumped on the floor. While the other boy - and Louis makes a mental note to at least ask him what his name is - looks around for his watch, he focuses on taking in his appearance, in absence of anything more productive or interesting to do.   
He’s wearing a tight, white t-shirt, the fabric so thin he can make out his back muscles contracting with his every movement. His bare arms are in plain sight and his tattoos are begging for further examination, but Louis loses his train of thought, startled by a ringtone going off. The lad in front of him takes his iPhone (a really old one, at that) out of his impossibly tight back pocket, glances at the screen, then declines the call and puts it back in its rightful place.   
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Louis asks, because surely it’s enough trouble that he’s here at all, while the place is bloody closed, and he’s also taking up people’s time with his presence, all because of a damned watch. And yes, it is more than just a watch to Louis, but no one else knows that, and he knows that people see him as an entitled brat, which he can’t entirely deny.   
However, he really doesn’t want to make this huge beast of a man he’s bothering miss any important calls or stand even more in his way than he already is (even though, let’s not forget, he was pretty invasive and annoying himself last night, and he might deserve it a little bit. Or maybe Louis is a dick and is just overreacting. But, nah. He was annoying. End of discussion).   
“I don’t know who that was, I’m sure I’m not missing out on anything,” he answers, and Louis swears he can _hear_ a smile - or a smirk, perhaps - in his voice, which is laced with amusement.   
“Right,” Louis simply retorts, a bit stern, feeling baffled and like he’s being mocked.   
After a few more moments of tense silence, only filled by the clattering and rattling of random objects moved by unusually large hands, the same ringtone goes off again. “I’m just gonna take this, see what it’s about. I’ll be a minute.” he takes a couple of steps out of the tiny room, but not out of Louis’ hearing range, then the ringing stops, and after a few seconds “Yeah, this is him,” the boy’s deep voice says.   
Silence.   
“She’s my mom, yes. She’s a nurse there, I know she’s there. Why?”   
Silence again. Longer this time.   
“What do you mean? Is she okay?” his voice is shaky, alarmed all of a sudden. His foot is tapping against the floor, his free hand dragging across his cheek and then pressing its heel against his eye.   
“Did- did you get him? Is he walking around right now?” he raises his voice at that, and starts pacing around in small circles, slowly.   
Silence.   
“I- I’ll be there as soon as I can.” and he hangs up. He huffs out a “Fuck.”, aggresively digging both the heels of his hands in his eye sockets and then pulling lightly at his hair. Louis can clearly see that the person in front of him just had his whole world shatter and crash on top of him, he can see it in his teary eyes, in his shaky hands, in his unsteady legs. And he suddenly feels the need to help, or to comfort. So he speaks before he has the time to think his words through.   
“Are you okay?” and what he gets in return is an _are you fucking serious?_ look. Again, he should put more thought into what he says. “I- sorry, I know. Dumb question” Louis suddnely feels small and insignificant.   
“Listen, I’m sorry about your watch, but I really gotta go, okay? You can ask someone else to look for it,” he says, his words coming out way faster than the previous times he’d spoken. At the moment, Louis couldn’t give a flying fuck about the damn watch, so he just furrows his brows and shakes his head, dumbfounded. His own heart is pounding, threatening to jump out of his chest, and he has no idea why. But he does want to help. He’s always been a caring and sympathetic person, after all, even if he’s been trying with every cell in his being to hide it, because showing emotions can’t do him any good, can it? Or at least that's what he's been told.  
Without Louis even noticing, the suffering, torn up man in front of him starts taking long strides towards the exit door. He stops by to talk to his friend, and Louis can faintly hear a request of "Mate, can you cover for me? Take my shift?", and an “I’ll explain later, I promise.  
Once he’s close enough to hear everything clearly again, the same deep voice hits his ears again, “Shit, Niall. I don’t have a fucking car, and I can’t walk all the way, it would take me ages!” and at that, Louis shifts uncomfortably, feeling like he’s interrupting something. Though he's not aware of the fact that nobody is sparing him a drop of attention because of the situation at hand. “I can take you, H,” Niall says (yes, he knows the blond lad's name now, mind you) and Louis barely registers the “H”. A nickname? Seriously? He could use his actual name right now. However, his train of thought is interrupted once again by the honey-like drip of a deep, slightly raspy voice. “You can't leave, you’re already covering for me. I don’t wanna get the both of us fired, I have enough to worry about for a lifetime as it is,” he retorts, voice stern and posture tense. Louis can’t blame him, the man is visibly in distress.   
“I can take you, my car is just outside.” Louis’ own voice startles him before he can process the fact that his lips even started moving around the words that escaped his mouth just now.   
“No, it’s fine, I’ll find a way. You have nothing to do with this, anyways.” is the answer he gets. Normally, he would get the hint and walk away, but he’s not ready to give up just yet. Not today.   
“I’m serious, I have nothing to do anyways. Just come with me, we’ll be there in no time.” and that kind of is a lie. Initially, he would've preferred going home and doing nothing for a while, contemplating his silly excuse of a life. But again, he's not heartless, and he figures some action would do him good. He can't spend his life locked in his house, after all.  
“Fine” _H_ exhales. He starts strolling towards the door, and Louis glances at Niall and nods for good measure before following suit. 

Once they're in Louis' car, a veil of tense silence settles over the both of them. It's kind of uncomfortable, but Louis can't blame the boy for not starting a deep conversation about the meaning of life, or politics, or whatever. He's in a car with a stranger, after all, on his way to find out God knows what about God knows who, but whatever it is, it can't be good. That's for sure.   
Louis is forced to break the silence, though, since he can't really avoid the elephant in the room right now. "Where to?" he asks, quietly. "Royal London Hospital," is the answer he gets, even quieter, followed by a sigh that must have emtpied the man's lungs completely.  
They start driving towards their destination and, somehow, after their exchange the tension in the air gets even thicker, if that's at all possible. Louis swears he could cut it with a knife. It's starting to get to him, too, and he feels the need to try and make it better, and maybe take some weight off the other lad's shoulders with some small talk.   
"So..." he starts. He mentally slaps himself in the face, because he's just making it worse. He's lost his charm, didn't he? His ability to talk to anyone and everyone, get into their graces with a few well thought out words and a few bats of his eyelashes. He's been keeping to himself a lot lately, and maybe that's why.   
He takes a deep breath, trying to be as silent as possible in order to hide his nerves.  
"Uh, we weren't really properly introduced, or anything. Care to tell me your name?" he inquires, with a nervous chuckle following his last words. Oddly enough, he hopes he didn't sound like a dick. It's not like him to worry about such things, but he knows this isn't the best of situations, so he tries to be sensible, as much as his rusty socializing skills will allow.   
The answer he receives is slightly belated, but at least it's there. "'M Harry. I'm sorry, I kind of, you know. Forgot to introduce myself, I guess."   
Louis mentally sighs in relief at the realization that he didn't overstep some imaginary boundary. Harry might as well have snapped at him. God knows Louis would have. "All good, mate. I'm Louis, by the way."   
Silence. The same tension settles over them again like a dark cloud, and this time Louis embraces it, because he doesn't know what else to say. He keeps driving, and at some point reaches out to turn on the radio, but decides against it because, well, it's not really the time for music, as much as he wishes there was something to fill the silence, other than the low buzz of the car and the sound of small puffs of air flowing in and out of their noses. 

When they get to the hospital, Harry immediately unfastens his seatbelt and opens the car door to get out, but when Louis does the same, he freezes.   
"What are you doing?" he hears Harry say and, right, boundaries and all that. He has no right to follow him inside, it's private shit after all, and he only knows the guy's name. Not even his full name, just his first. What's his surname? Does he have a middle name? How old is he? Louis has no idea, and he doesn't have that much interest in finding out, but he kind of wants to know what happened, and maybe give Harry a ride home if needed. He doesn't have a car, after all, and whoever is inside the hospital is in no condition to drive, he assumes.   
"I- how are you gonna get home? I can wait for you, see if you need a ride, yeah?" he rambles, caught off guard.   
"It's fine, mate. Just go, I'll manage," he snaps. And shit, Louis kind of wants to slap him or at e very least put him in his place with words. He remembers that he must be dealing with a lot right now though, so he refrains from proceeding with either.   
"Fine, but I'm gonna go inside and get a bottle of water," he retorts bitterly, glaring at him.  
"Are you kidding me? You're clearly rich as fuck, posh car and all, and you want to get a bottle of water ar a _hospital_? Really? Just stop at a cafè or something, people are dying in there." Harry says, pointing towards the building. His voice is strained and the vein on the side of his neck is popping out, face lightly flushed in anger.  
"Just go, do your business. Good luck." he responds drily, tired of taking the other boy's shit.  
With that, Harry steps out of the car, his motions steady. He slams the door shut and starts walking hastily towards the entrance without sparing Louis as much as a miserable "thanks", a nod, a glance, anything. Ungrateful bastard.   
However, Louis wants to find out what the fuck is going on, even if it's none of his business. He gets out of the car and locks it. He checks to see if Harry is still around, and when he deems it safe to go inside without having to endure another unpleasant encounter with him, he takes off in the same direction. 

When he gets to the front door, his senses are overhwhelmed by the loud chatter and worried faces. All he sees is a dozen of women in light green scrubs, frantically running around. Five or six people wearing blue scrubs and white gowns talking with nurses, families, pr with each other, and lastly, a wave of big men in navy blue uniforms. They're everywhere. Cops.  
What the _fuck_ is going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!  
> If you want to talk, you can find me on Twitter @louishslot .
> 
> Yours,   
> Ana xx


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